Madness: it's Subjective
by Subtlynice
Summary: GOF missing moment. In which Ron attacks a quill, thinks about Hermione, kicks his bedpost, thinks about Hermione, talks to himself and thinks about Hermione. He’s not mad. Not at all. Nope.


Madness: it's Subjective

_GOF missing moment. In which Ron attacks a quill, thinks about Hermione, kicks his bedpost, thinks about Hermione, talks to himself and thinks about Hermione. He's not mad. Not at all. Nope._

Disclaimer: Most unfortunately, I do not own Ron Weasley. Believe me, if I did, I wouldn't be writing fanfiction.

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Mad. Absolutely barking mad.

He runs a hand through his hair with frustration.

He kicks his bedpost and then curses at the jolt of pain he feels. He hops around on one leg for a while, clutching his throbbing toe, before collapsing back onto his bed in an even worse temper than before.

He's got a lot to be angry about.

His toe.

Fleur Delacour.

Hermione.

His day could not possibly have been any worse. Just thinking about it now makes him want to kick something again, despite how much his toe hurts.

"Poor bugger," he growls. Of course, this is the reason he's so annoyed. He reasons that he's just feeling sympathetic to whoever had the nerve to ask Hermione out on a date.

An actual... _date_. With... dancing and fancy dress robes and stuff.

Not that it would be a bad thing, dating Hermione. Just that… well… she's Hermione. She's your mate one second and then she's harping on about that bloody cat or homework or something. Half the stuff that comes out of her mouth is enough to bore Professor Bins, for god's sake!

Ron reckons the poor sod must not know her very well. Anyone who knew Hermione as well as he did would run screaming for cover at the thought of a _date_ with _Hermione_.

Not that she's not nice, of course. She's helped him out of some tricky situations in the past – done his homework, lied to his mother, saved his life. You know, the usual. And all right, she was kind of nice looking when she wasn't yelling at him or harping on about exams and homework. But that was it. Nothing else. Just his pretty, kind, caring _friend_. Certainly not the kind of person _he'd_ want to go on a date with.

Ron runs his fingers through his hair again, frowning. He doesn't even know why he even thought that. Him on a date with Hermione! It's ridiculous! And besides, she's got some idiotic slime-ball licking her shoes, sneaking around, asking her on dates without letting him know first.

He sits down on his bed and takes a quill from his schoolbag, but he's not about to write anything. He just wanted something to occupy his hands with. After all, there's only so much hair-pulling his scalp could take before he ended up in the hospital wing, taking a potion for hair re-growth...

Strange, that he's been running his fingers through his hair so much today. It's a nervous gesture he's always had. It's an annoying habit, because it means he always turns up to the worst exams with static hair sticking un every direction, looking almost like Harry. Or no – even worse. Like Hermione...

He chuckles at the thought, but the sound echoes thinly through the empty room and he immediately stops. He's used to making jokes at Hermione's expense – after all, she gives as good as she bloody well gets – but it feels wrong somehow to think of her like that when he's alone. He knows she wouldn't laugh about him behind his back.

Or maybe she would. Maybe she is right now. Maybe she's holed up with her mystery _boyfriend_ (Ron sneers the word in his head, picturing a troll of a bloke with no common sense and loads of pimples) and maybe they're putting their heads together, laughing about him... about what he asked her earlier that afternoon...

Ron groans and puts his hands in his head. It was just the icing on the cake, really. First he'd gone completely bonkers and thrown himself at Fleur Delacour – the stupid, gorgeous veela girl, sneaking up at him like that... and then, he'd somehow lost his mind and asked _Hermione_! Like he'd even want to go with Hermione! Yeah. Right. That was just...

He shakes his head. He doesn't even want to think about that. Because that's weird. It's _Hermione_, for god's sake. He can't even imagine what a date with Hermione would be like. What would Hermione do for fun with this... this... poor, deranged boy, anyway?

He absently hears a cracking noise and glances down at the now mutilated quill in his hands. Oops. He must have been twisting it in his hands, and not realised how much pressure he was putting on it. He fishes out his wand and hastily mutters, "_Reparo_" but the spell doesn't do much good. They had only learnt this spell a few months ago, and although Ron thinks hopefully that the twisted feathers now look a little straighter, the quill remains stubbornly beyond repair. He'll have to ask Hermione to fix it for him properly.

Hermione...

It was her bloody fault his quill was ruined anyway! And he knew she'd ask him how it got in such a state. What could he say?

"_Well, Hermione, I was mulling over my options, deciding on the best way to let the little twerp you may-or-may-not be dating know just how dull you are, so he'd hopefully crawl back into his hole and rot there..."_

Somehow, he didn't think she'd mend it for him if he was completely honest with her. He chucks the quill onto the floor, just to release some of the pent-up aggression he hadn't realised he was feeling. It lies there, completely motionless in all of its disrepair. For some reason, Ron finds himself glaring at it.

Stupid broken quill. It was an old one of Bill's anyway. Just like the socks he's wearing. Just like everything else that's ever belonged to him. Sometimes he wonders if anything will ever really belong to him at all.

Hermione's pretty boy must be rich, he decides. Rich and pigheaded. He'd have to be, to keep up with her. She's always buying expensive hardback books. He sees them delivered via owl, and they're enormous. And therefore expensive.

So, her boyfriend _must _therefore be someone with loads of money at hand. To keep up with all the... _studying_ they must be doing.

He snorts.

Yeah, that's what they'd do. They'd study together. Hermione would like that. Heck, Hermione was probably the only girl in the world who'd like that.

_I bet they're having a brilliant time together_, he thinks, savagely. _Poring over books, laughing, smiling, kissing – _

He kicks the bedpost again. He swears again. He can almost hear Hermione scolding him now for his bad mouth. He wonders if Hermione just argues with him for the sake of arguing – like he does. He wonders if his swearing really annoys Hermione as much as she says it does. He wonders if he cares. He wonders if she would care if he cared.

He also wonders why the hell he's thinking about Hermione so much.

And then he laughs. Really, it's the same bloody ball game all over again – they fight, he thinks about it and then he ends up spending way too much time thinking about it. About the fight. Not about Hermione. He doesn't think much about her. Well, fine, of course he thinks about her. She's his friend. His friend. His best friend – well, apart from Harry, anyway. But Harry's different. Harry's a guy. Hermione, well... she's... not.

Not that Ron's noticed. Or cares much. Because why should he care? What is there to care about?

He doesn't, you know. Care, that is. He doesn't care. Not about Hermione and her mystery boyfriend. Absolutely not.

He thinks once more about Hermione and her lover boy curled up together in some little nook of the library, laughing at him, and he scowls.

"Mad," he concludes to himself. "Poor guy must be off his rocker."

_And he's not the only ruddy one of us._

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A/N:** I haven't written anything short or fluffy for ages. It's nice to not have to worry about plot for a change.

Isn't oblivious Ron cute when he's in denial?

Reviews, please? I will try to reply to them. I'm still sorting through my TB reviews, but I will get around to answering them all eventually! :)


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